Angel's Choice

Prologue

AUGUST 6:00 p.m:

School will start up again next week, and I am at Ricky D'Amico's end-of-summer blowout. I do not think I was number one on her list of people to invite- I was probably not even number fifty-one- but her next-door neighbor is my best friend, Karin, and she couldn't very well not invite her next-door neighbor, and once she invited Karin, Karin asked me to stop by.

Ricky D'Amico has never liked me. First week of freshman art class, nearly three years ago now, she thought I purposefully said something to insult her-I didn't; it was just a stupid joke- and she has never forgiven me.

By the time I arrive, walking there from my house two blocks away, it looks like the other fifty people who were on the guest list ahead of me are already there. Many of the guys and some of the girls are clustered around the keg just outside the garage. Ricky has the kind of cool parents who say it's ok for us kids to drink, even though we're all underage, so long as no one drives and they don't get busted for giving alcohol to minors. They say so long as we are responsible, there's no harm in having a little fun.

It's only six o'clock, so it'll be light out for nearly another three hours, and when I look over by the pool area, the late-afternoon summer sun still fairly high in the sky, I see most of the girls hanging around there, red plastic cups of beer in their hands. But none of them are swimming. The D'Amicos have one other rule: no swimming and drinking.

A couple of kids yell out "Hey!" to me, but no one approaches, leaving it instead for me to decide where I'll go first. I used to think maybe this kind of thing meant people didn't like me- well okay, Ricky doesn't- but lately I think it is because most people are so scared of being rejected. They're scared that if they act all happy to see you, and come running over like a puppy dog, you'll be looking over their shoulder trying to find someone better.

I look at both groups of kids- the one by the keg, the one by the pool- trying to decide where to go first. I recognize all of the girls, of course; Sherry Bixby, the junior varsity cheerleader; Dawn Peck, who everyone thinks will be a great artist someday and who always wears these romantic gauzy clothes she designs herself; Kirstin Thomas, who is so smart that it scares boys, but who is also so pretty and perky, no one ever leaves her out of anything; and all the other JV cheerleaders, artists, and pretty girls. I size up what they are wearing and decide that I have not done too bad for myself tonight: While I'll never dress as cool as Kirstin and her crowd, my jeans fit well, with no bulges hanging over the side; my white gauze shirt is acceptable without being arty; even my makeup is right for once, making me look like I care about what I look like, but not too much, while highlighting my dark eyes. I am particularly happy that, despite it being August, there is little humidity, so my long dark hair is not turning into the finger-in-the-light-socket look it's capable of developing. At least not yet. My heeled sandals make me four inches taller than my usual height, and I am not falling over in them yet, two things that always make me ridiculously happy. And my smile is good- God knows, my parents paid enough for it.

But even though I feel as though I look good enough to approach the girls at the pool, when I look closer, I realize Karin isn't there. And when you go to a party where the hostess doesn't really want you there, it's always best to locate your best friend first.

So I turn my attention to the kids gathered around the keg, and I do not see Karin there, either, but as I draw closer, making my way through the crowd, I do see something that is maybe even better: Danny Stanton is seated in a lawn chair next to the keg, taking it upon himself to keep everyone's red plastic cups filled. 

I have been in love with Danny it seems like, sometimes, forever.

"Hey! Angel!" Danny says, obviously happy to see me. He reaches for another red plastic cup. "Let me get you a brewski."